


The Dangers of Raw Meat

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis, US Comedians RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 08:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21133460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: 1947Jerry Lewis is sick and it's up to Dean Martin to look after him.





	The Dangers of Raw Meat

Jerry rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach. His fever hadn’t let up the past two days and he didn’t think he was long for this world.

He heard the door behind him open as Dean returned home. He groaned helplessly in pain.

The small hotel room barely had enough space for the double bed they shared, and Dean took care not to jostle it as he manoeuvred around to reach Jerry’s bedside.

Dean made comforting noises as he knelt at Jerry’s side. He then felt Jerry’s forehead to gauge his temperature before applying a cold compress. 

Dean felt awful. In the first twenty-four hours of this, he’d been sure Jerry was just doing a bit – trying out a new comedy routine on him, feeling out how that might work. As such, Dean had played his on-stage character. After that first day was over, he had started to get nervous. He knew about the twenty-four hour bug. The forty-eight hour bug wasn’t an unheard of complaint in this establishment, lacking as it was in basic hygiene practises.

Now, Jerry was going on three days of this and still didn’t seem any closer to health.

“Why’d you have to eat the chicken, Jer?” Dean pondered aloud, mostly to himself.

Jerry whimpered pathetically in response, and Dean winced in sympathy as he lifted the cold compress and folded it over. Jerry’s temperature had already warmed through one side of the fabric.

Dean reached into his bag and pulled out an icebox. He fished out a cube and brought it to Jerry’s lips. Jerry started at the surprising cold, but moaned in appreciation as it slowly both hydrated and cooled him.

The ice cube melted and Jerry kissed Dean’s finger gently before it retracted. 

“Dean,” he said, his voice cracking from lack of use. “Where’d -.” Jerry interrupted himself with a cough, the effort of which caused his stomach to seize in pain and he doubled over.

Dean reached his hand up to place it comfortingly on Jerry’s shoulder. “Shh, this’ll be our little secret.”

Jerry wasn’t much for making conversation, so Dean filled the silence detailing how he’d swiped the icebox from reception while distracting the receptionist with a song and all his powers of flirty persuasion.

Jerry grunted in disapproval. He didn’t like it when Dean flirted with other people, even when he _was_ the picture of adorable, youthful health. The prospect that he was invalided at home and Dean was going out seducing receptionists was more than he was willing to entertain at the moment.

Dean reached back into the icebox and grabbed another ice cube, this time rubbing it into Jerry’s chest. Again, Jerry jumped slightly at the contact, then closed his eyes in bliss as he felt the coolness radiating into his chest. 

Dean’s knees were starting to tire from their position on the threadbare carpet of the hardwood hotel room floor. He stood up shakily, placing the icebox carefully between two pillows, just behind Jerry’s head. Gingerly, he climbed over Jerry and onto the bed.

To his credit, Jerry didn’t move or make any noise. He just stayed hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Dean lay down behind him, running his hand through Jerry’s shorn haircut. That was one thing to be thankful for - they were no longer going to be prone to the kinds of diseases the flies that used to flock to Jerry’s pomade carried with them.

Dean thought back to that fateful day earlier in the week. Mid-August in New York, and some of their mutual acquaintances had invited them to a cookout. Not in a position to turn down either potential show-business connections or a free meal, they’d donned their nicest casual attire and headed over. 

Dean had been wary of the man in charge of the barbecue. He really hadn’t looked like he had the faintest idea what he was doing. Dean made a mental note not to touch anything that came off it, and to warn Jerry to do the same.

However, he’d soon found himself caught up in a conversation about golf with a fellow Italian crooner. Enjoying his beer on the hot afternoon, all thoughts of poorly prepared food and its associated dangers had completely slipped his mind.

A while later, he spied Jerry by the barbecue, offering a hand to the clueless, yet attractive man in charge. Dean gave him a little wave which he had returned enthusiastically. In that moment, Dean had never been fonder of him. The kid was special, and every day he was finding more reasons to favour him. From his tenacity, drive and ambition, to his sweet, good-hearted and kind nature. Not to mention his natural talent and good looks. The intensity of his protective feelings towards Jerry Lewis sometimes scared him.

He saw Jerry take a slab of meat from the grill, place it inside a roll and take a large bite out of it. Something bothered him about that at the time, but he didn’t examine it, putting the feeling down to general apprehension and confusion regarding his complicated affection for Jerry.

But that was then. As it turned out, the poor kid had eaten raw chicken, and was now paying for it in spades. Dean had even called his mother in Steubenville. They didn’t have medical insurance, and so he’d taken it upon himself to nurse Jerry back to health. He’d ducked out of the room at the crack of dawn to call her and ask for some advice. She had assumed he was caring for his wife, and he didn’t have the heart to correct her. Besides, whatever he’d be expected to do to care for his wife, he’d expect himself to do for Jerry, and then some.

Jerry’s breath had evened out and his shoulders had relaxed in a way that told Dean he’d finally succumbed to sleep.

Dean took the cold compress back from Jerry’s forehead and dipped it in the icebox, which was mostly now filled with cold water. Wringing it out, he returned it to Jerry’s face and smiled to himself at the noise of appreciation it drew from the kid.

Jerry turned onto his back with what looked like great difficulty and looked up at Dean. 

“Thanks, Paul,” he whispered.

“Anytime, buddy.” Dean whispered back.

“Ice?” Jerry asked, his voice still just a whisper.

“Sure.” Dean replied, reaching into the icebox and pulling out one of the few remaining partially melted cubes. 

He placed it on Jerry’s lower lip, slowly tracing around his mouth before letting it slip inside. 

“Think you can manage some toast, Jer?” Dean asked. He was well aware that the skinny comic hadn’t had anything to eat in a long time and couldn’t really afford to have any number of days without food.

“Can you feed me?” Jerry’s voice was small.

Dean felt his heart swell at the look of trust and the sheer feeling of being needed. “Of course, kid.”

Jerry’s face broke into a smile and Dean couldn’t help himself. He leaned down over Jerry and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

As soon as he’d done it he almost regretted it. He couldn’t take advantage of Jerry like this - the kid was literally in his care! Dean tried to beat a hasty retreat, raising his head away from Jerry’s, but found his shoulders encircled by Jerry’s arms which had reached up around him in a hug.

Having made a few inches of space between their lips he found himself looking directly into Jerry’s eyes. They were shining and the pupils were dilated, but Dean couldn’t tell if it was as a result of his presence or just the delirium talking.

“Jerry…?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean?” Jerry asked. His voice was still weak, but there was a hopefulness and joy there that had been sorely missing for the better part of a week.

Dean didn’t have an end to the question formulated, so Jerry completed it for him.

“Kiss me again.”

Dean leaned down again, capturing Jerry’s lips in a stronger kiss and putting into it all of his love and emotion.

\---------------------------

Jerry awoke feeling much better. He touched his fingers to his lips, remembering the kiss Dean had bestowed on him right before he passed out. Out the window, he could see the sun beginning to set and realised he must have slept a good fourteen hours. It had only been just after dawn when Dean had shown up with ice and toast and everything to make him feel better.

He smiled to himself. Dean had taken such good care of him. He hadn’t even had the energy to entertain Dean or make him laugh, but he had still cared for him. Jerry felt warm all over and for the first time in recent memory, not from a fever.

He turned his head on the pillow to look for Dean but found only an empty space. He took a few calming breaths. He knew how Dean felt. Dean was strong, he wouldn’t have run out. Besides, Dean couldn’t have known he was better now and there was no way Dean would leave him alone sick.

Jerry heard some groans coming from the small ensuite. He sat up and swivelled his legs over the side of the bed, immediately feeling the blood rushing away from his head. Taking a few more steadying breaths, he stood slowly before making his way around to the bathroom.

The latch on the door had never worked, and so it was slightly ajar. Jerry nudged it open and saw Dean kneeling at the toilet bowl, doubled over. He looked to be in great distress and Jerry grabbed a pillow from the bed to put under his knees. 

Dean mumbled an almost audible ‘thanks’ before returning the rest of his stomach contents to the bowl.

Jerry’s mind started racing. Dean was sick. In all the time he’d known him, Dean had never been sick. Dean was strong, it was always Jerry who got sick – weak, skinny kid that he was. How was he supposed to look after Dean? He felt better himself, but how do you take care of a Dean Martin? 

He couldn’t possibly call home for help.

Jerry raced around the room, opening drawers and looking in bags until he saw a scrap of paper on Dean’s bedside table. Written on it, in Dean’s familiar scrawl was the heading ‘JERRY’ underlined, followed by a checklist of items:

• Aspirin  
• Cold Compress  
• Fluids  
• Plain foods (toast)  
• Ice Chips???  
• Don’t get too close

Jerry smiled, but held back from doing a little happy dance. Clearly, Dean had made a checklist of things he needed to take care of him with. It was also clear that Dean had failed on the final bullet point.

Jerry’s heart started to sink. He’d caused this. He’d made Dean sick. 

As he started compiling a list of regrets in his head, he remembered it was Dean who had kissed him first. That thought made his heart soar. Dean had kissed him. And got sick. But the important thing was that Dean had kissed him, and it wasn’t part of his grand plan to make him better. Jerry was now firmly of the belief that Dean’s lips had cured him of his stomach ache, and would be compelled to enlist them for help every subsequent time he felt poorly.

Jerry placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder and told him he’d be back shortly. There was an all hours drug store down the street and he’d be able to get most of what was on the list. 

When Jerry returned, he made sure to pay special attention to _all_ of the instructions on Dean’s list for the few days his friend took to recuperate. He fawned over Dean and treated him to a level of care the man had never experienced before. Jerry might not yet have had the courage to tell Dean how he felt, but boy could he show him.

Besides, he had such plans for when they had both regained their strength.

**Author's Note:**

> I own only a guitar and pen; and the guitar is borrowed.
> 
> These are fictional depictions of real people. Please don't sue me.


End file.
